


Must have Been the Rum

by Measured_Words



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Nautical RPF
Genre: Bondage, Drunk Sex, F/F, Historical, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-14 02:25:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne is sick of men, and is looking for a connection only another woman can give her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must have Been the Rum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenofinsanity6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofinsanity6/gifts).



> Happy yuletide, enjoy your treat ^-^
> 
> Thanks to snowynight for betaing, and #yuletide hippos for doing their thang! :)

Must Have Been the Rum

Mary – Maarten as she was known to most of the crew – had carved herself a space from what had been the cook’s quarters in the little ship they’d seized. While some of the other pirates grumbled about her appropriation of just about the only private space to be had, they wouldn’t argue with her (his) cutlass and cold glare. Besides which, she was one of the few aboard who could cook, when they had supplies and she felt inclined. It made her nostalgic for the inn she’d run in Flanders.

The crew was being extra rowdy that night, and as she didn’t feel like joining them, she’d retreated to her little cabin – barely space enough to sling a hammock – to drink and reflect on the past.

A scant hour later, someone was banging on her door.

“Open up and, and damn your eyes!”

There was only one person on the crew with a voice so prone to shrillness when slurred. She set down her pistol and cracked the hatch. Anne shoved forcefully, pushing her way inside and leaning up against Mary. Her long hair was all tangled and wild, and her shirt hung open so that her breasts were nearly bared. It was close and hot below-decks, even in the winter months, and she wore no coat.

“Maarten,” she half-sobbed, pawing at Mary’s breeches, “sweet Mary, comfort me.”

Anne was clearly drunk beyond all reason – beyond even her normal standards of debauchery. The watery rum they’d plundered from the salt rakers at the Turks Islands has as yet had little effect on Mary’s mood, but Anne had access to the stronger spirits that Captain Rackham tried to keep for himself. Mary took Anne by the wrists, interrupting her uncoordinated fumbling. The other woman seemed to take this as a different sort of invitation, and leaned forward to kiss her.

“Enough!” she cried, giving Anne a shove that sent her sprawling back against the hatch. Miraculously, she caught herself, and looked up at Mary with a burning gleam in her eye. “Are you mad, woman? We’ve been through this. I’m not man – I have nothing for your appetites. Go and find the captain – if he is too drunk for fucking, he can hardly fault you finding someone else.”

Anne smiled lasciviously, tossing her hair and arching her back against the hatchway. “He is too drunk, damn him too, and I’ve someone in mind, and you’ve just what I need to sate all my hungers…sweet Mary.”

“You’re drunk and the devil’s got your tongue, girl.” Anne was not the first woman to give her the eye. Mary knew her slender girlish figure that gave the impression of a youth that was in reality long passed, and the confident demeanor she’d cultivated to mark her place in a world of men were traits that many women found appealing. But Anne was one of few to be so persistent – it must have been the rum.

“I’ll show you who’s got my tongue – damn them Mary, all to Hell’s fires! We’re better – they’re just flat limp things with no spark of life! We have spirit! We have _passion_! Let me show you – let’s show _them_ what freedom is, what it is to say, truly, damn your laws, damn your judgments, and damn your constraints!” She advanced again as she spoke, and Mary could smell the liquor on her – brandy, she guessed. “To Hell with sailors, and all men, and Captain,” she fairly spit the word, “Jack Rackham. His words are turned to ash in my mouth, and I would rather taste fire.”

“Anne,” she began, searching for her calm, drawing on the steely gaze that sent most other pirates scurrying away. It was harder, because Anne’s speech had affected her. She missed Frederick, but even he had been a softer sort of man. He’d needed her for that very reason. But Anne was a wild, untamable thing. She needed no one, she only wanted. And to be wanted by such a force was a headier drug than any cheap rum. Instead of finishing her reproach, she let the other woman kiss her.

She tasted of brandy and her touch was urgent and ungentle. She tore at the ties of Mary’s shirt and groped at her breasts, finding a nipple and pinching it roughly. Mary had never let a man paw at her so, but Anne’s own flesh was soft and yielding to her touch. She moaned softly into Mary’s mouth as she slid a hand along her side, down her hip, around the firmness of her thigh to give Anne’s bottom and experimental squeeze. Life aboard ship had firmed her some, but it was a woman’s firmness. Anne laughed throatily.

“I knew, I knew we were meant for this, to be together, more than ship-sisters.” Anne had wormed her fingers into the top of Mary’s breeches and was working them down, exposing the thick dark curls of hair that covered her womanhood. Mary tried so hard to avoid being naked aboard ship that the exposure brought a certain thrill. It was hard to maneuver with her bottoms slid down so low, but Mary didn’t try to resist when Anne pushed her back against the bulkhead, sliding down to rest on her sea chest. In another few moments, the offending article of clothing had been removed. Caught up in the moment, she dragged Anne down into her lap.

It was exciting to explore another woman’s body, and she let her hand roams freely under Anne’s shirt as they kissed. Her breasts were heavy, her nipples small and tight. When Anne tore open her shirt in frustration, Mary rolled one gently between her lips, circling its hardness with her tongue until Anne moaned rubbing at herself through her own loose breeches. Her cry when Mary followed suite was startlingly loud, and she paused. She’d heard – the whole crew had heard – such sounds come from the captain’s cabin. Everyone would know it was Anne who called out so in pleasure. Jack hadn’t seen Mary as a threat before, laughing off the mistaken identity, but he might still change his mind.

“More!” Anne clasped Mary’s hand, linking their fingers and drawing her downwards, moaning again as they both pressed harder against the spot of her pleasure. Mary kissed her again to muffle the sound, but Anne bit hard at her lip instead. The sharp sensation sent a frisson up through her core, and she grabbed Anne’s hair roughly and pulled her head away.

“I’ll give you more,” she panted sharply, “if you’ll not cry out.”

“Yes,” Anne strained in her grip, laughing drunkenly, “more of my sweet Mary.”

“Strip, then, woman, and I’ll give you all I can.” She let go of Anne’s hair, and the other woman stumbled to her feet, stripping out of the remains of her shirt and kicking aside her breeches with practiced ease. Mary cast about for something she could use, her eyes eventually falling on the line she’d been splicing together as a repair for the starboard topsail brace. She picked up the line and Anne’s eyes went wide. She smiled to match it.

Anne let Mary wind the rough rope around her head, biting down roughly into the weathered hemp. Her wrists were tied to either end of the line which crossed behind her head, so that the more she struggled, the tighter it gagged her. So bound, she leaned herself against the way, perched on the chest, spreading herself wind in open invitation.

Mary shed her own shirt, reveling in the perversity of her nakedness, and then straddled one of Anne’s legs. Even tied, Anne had a wild look to her, and she laughed, bucking her hips to force Mary to slide towards her. A hand on her chest encouraged her to further misbehave, until Mary pinched her nipple harshly. She choked on her cry and struggled against her bonds.

Mary lifted Anne’s chin then, pushing her head back up against the bulkhead. With her other hand she quested through the damp tangle of Anne’s lower hair – not as thick as her own, nor as dark – to find her slick opening. She leaned forward to kiss Anne’s lower lip, trailing her attentions lower as her fingers explored. Anne writhed and thrashed, squealing sharply when Mary found the hard spot above her entry and rubbed, gently at fist, then harder as Anne pushed back against her slippery hand. She cupped a breast, sucking again on Anne’s nipple, teasing it gently with her teeth. Anne bucked against her, and Mary slid two fingers inside her easily, stroking quickly until Anne shuddered so hard she banged her head.

There were red chafe-marks on her face, and her lips, chapped from the salt air, had split slightly when they removed the rope, but still Anne smiled and groaned so pleasantly, stretching out shamelessly and dipping her hand between her legs again. She reminded Mary of a cat – a killer built for pleasure. She turned her lazy smile upwards, drawing Mary back down to her.

“And what of you my sweet? I can tell you have your own needs… sweet Mary, yes, I yearn to taste you.” They kissed again, more gently, and Anne leaned her back so that she lay on top. She nuzzled her way down Mary’s body until she reached her legs, and spread them open. Slowly, she ran her tongue once along her sex, then repeated the motion. Mary had never felt anything like it – Frederik hadn’t been much more experienced than she, and they’d stolen most of their time together during the war. Afterwards, they’d become accustomed to each other’s needs and wants, and had thought they knew each other’s bodies well. But perhaps not – perhaps she was not so worldly as she’d thought. Anne’s tongue felt amazing, and she arched into it. She’d long learned to swallow any cries of pleasure, but still felt her heaving breathing betray her. When Anne focused her tonguing on the pearl of her womanhood, tracing her fingers through the wetness of her inner sex, then trailing back with slicked finger to tease her ass, it brought her to the crest of a wave of pleasure she’d not been expecting.

Anne laughed lightly as she rose from where she’d been kneeling, more sober but no less wild. She ran a hand down her face, feeling out the chaffed patches on her cheeks. Mary struggled to find the energy to sit up, willing her body to comply. “My sweet Mary – sweet and rough, like no man could ever be. We’re bonded now – your strength is my strength. And when this pack of sniveling puppies scuttles itself off to the gallows, we’ll be the ones to stand, to show the world what it is to be free, and wild, and strong.”


End file.
